


Devoured

by Vapidus



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will Graham, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, POV Hannibal Lecter, POV Will Graham, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Resolved Sexual Tension, Threats of Violence, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:07:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28839876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vapidus/pseuds/Vapidus
Summary: Their lines that have started to blur are still competing to truly become one.A post-cliff fiction and exploration, with reference to past events and gaps , further exploring the complex relationship between Hannibal and Will, and their entertwined paths through darkness and light after their fall into the black waves.The POV from both Will and Hannibal will be more or less alternating.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	1. Prologue: Waves

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome everyone!  
> This is my very first ever published work of writing.  
> I'm pretty late to the party but I could not fight the urge to write my thoughts down!  
> Please bare with me, overlook potential mistakes (don't have a beta reader unfortunately and am not an native English speaker) and please don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts!  
> I'm trying to make this feel as canon as I can, but of course this is also subjective at times, 
> 
> Let's see if anyone is going to read this and I might publish more, but I'm having a great time writing in any case:) 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy!

> _"Before you and after you"._

It suddenly came to his mind when their eyes met. He let his mind wander over the words he once had uttered.  
The life before _him_ seemed like surreal, heavy fog, rather worth forgetting than remembering.

It was in a way quite sad, considering the limited time one has on earth, how the presence of something or someone or their absence even more so, cannot only shape but profoundly define one's life and its flavor. It could make it taste plain, just enough to survive, or it could make it taste bitter, sweet, sour, filthy and divine.

Who would not take the risk of the bitterest bite, if the reward ought to be the epitome of euphoria in a mouthful? 

Was the life before _him_ truly worthless?

The endless lack that he had felt throughout all these years came to be even more obvious now, and for a brief moment he felt like he might as well have just skipped all these dull years he had been alive so far.   
A feeling of bitterness and regret for all the wasted time burned in him, along with the realization that this was entirely irrational.

> _"A life without regrets would be no life at all"_

He heard _his_ words from the past and knew they were true, that everything he had experienced shaped him into who he was tonight, as stereotypical this notion was, it couldn't be more true. 

The knowledge that all of this was necessary to be endured before he could rightfully grasp the true taste of how intoxicating life itself truly could taste, replaced the bitterness with sweet gratitude and he felt a sense of pride for having made it through it all. 

It granted who and what now stood before him even more importance, an immeasurable significance, that only his likewise immeasurable pain could have truly justified.

The constant isolation, the mental and physical hardship and pain he went through, the deprivation of so many needs he never dared claim, the endless nightmares of grotesque bodies, blood-soaked sheets, skin and water... they now felt like worth remembering after all, perhaps even cherished, like old gifts to be treasured and occasionally reminisced.

  
One in particular had left a deeper imprint in his memory than others, and it had always been reoccurring, as if repeatedly wanting to prove its power over Will: 

A dream of silky waves of hot and cold blood that creeped up and onto him, as if they were conscious beings with ambiguous intentions.

  
The waves would both caress and suffocate him; they'd slowly penetrate him through his skin, yet feel forceful and hungry while doing so; mixing and merging their blood, their very nature with his own, as if trying to cleanse and renew him, yet at the same time greedily defile him whole from the inside out. 

  
It made him feel like having gone through countless deaths, yet he felt like he was born anew.

Before _him_ it felt wrong and dangerous.

He couldn’t have possibly just indulged in what these waves truly meant and what they were indicating. 

He had wanted to resist them so much and he had kept up his attempts not to let them invade him, but kept failing more whenever they’d come back, and they’d dig and push themselves deeper into him each and every time and he’d wake up drenched in sweat and defeat.

He realized that his initial choice and attempt to resist them had been a fading illusion, a lie he had firmly told himself and he had felt fear and so much guilt for not only giving in but for the fact that he had so enjoyed it from the very beginning.

He liked it so much, his subconscious even looking forward to them, hoping and waiting for the blood waves to finally dig so deep, he’d finally feel nothing but them, finally become them.

The guilt and supposed incompatibility of his old self and the enjoyment of something he thought was so vile, were what made these dreams nightmares at the time.

In retrospect these dreams might as well have been an accurate foreshadowing of who and what was to come.   
It almost felt like _he_ had invaded his mind before they had even laid eyes on each other for the first time. 

But after _him_ , oh, it seemed each time, the blood waves turned a bit darker on their way to a pitch black shade and they begun to creep onto him a little differently. A little more ease, a little more force, less and less resistance and a nightmare had turned into a dark fantasy that was welcome and made him feel alive, slowly removing all his incompatible layers, revealing him more and more.

  
____

If he didn't let those waves into him, Will thought, a different person, would now stand before Hannibal right in this moment, and the mere thought of this was repulsive.

In fact this was completely false.

If he wasn't himself exactly as he was now, nobody would stand here tonight, and Hannibal would still play his harpsichord, composing music and deaths in his Baltimore villa, rare wines covering his fine palette before he'd give a little roll of his lips and a click of satisfaction with his tongue, in pure solitude, only accompanied by his very own music.

  
And nobody would ever truly know him,   
see him. 

It would've been an immeasurable waste.   
He imagined himself to be a wide eyed, brightly grinning man with a regular mind, unconcerned, leading an easy life without hardship that's filled with trivialities, boring, banal thoughts, sitting in front of Dr. Lecter during his therapy session.

He imagined someone who'd turn their back to the darkness instead of turning towards it and then proceed to stride headlong into damnation, like he, himself did and still would do,   
without hesitation. 

  
Only now he would do so with a smile, knowing who'd wait for him at the deepest depth of hell.

He imagined the bored expression Hannibal would've given this naive boy, the look of disinterest and disappointment.

That would have felt far, far worse now than going through all the pain again, and he also felt nothing but disdain and emptiness at the thought of an easy, banal life such as that.  
It felt unbearable and pointless in fact. 

No amount of ease and comfort would have been worth more than being here right now, in front of Hannibal and seeing him.   
Truly seeing him as who he is at the core of his being.He tried but felt unable to measure his appreciation for this indeed rare gift he was given, and he'd make sure to make Hannibal feel that in fact, he did always want it, and will keep wanting it until he is forced to part with his last breath. 

He realized now that the dark waves in his dreams had been exhibiting his true longing, what he craved, needed and couldn’t accept or admit he wanted.

  
He desired them to change him, clear his mind of all uncertainty and doubt and fill the void with their beautiful darkness and clarity.

He wanted to find the courage to act upon his true will, despite all consequences and how wrong it all was, give up all boundaries, give in, inhale them, welcome them, smell, taste and touch them and make them stay even if it'd hurt, to devour and be devoured.

And he got close.  
He was now cleansed and defiled.  
He had died and rose anew.

  
The resemblance to his older self was now replaced with his true potential, reaching from the depth of the dark waves inside himself, up to his surface, where it’d now catch and reflect the light of the moon above them.

  
Finally.   
  


___

  
The cliff was the last step he had to take to complete his metamorphosis. He finally had followed and given into the urges he had kept down for so long, cultivated them as the inspirations that they are and he had become someone else, just like Hannibal said.   
He thought it must have been the last step. 

It was as if his dreams had pointed to this exact scene, to dark and powerful waves waiting to devour him, and he'd let them.

He looked at Hannibal who had lifted his head to look directly into Will's eyes. They had slayed the dragon and were still panting, exhausted, heavily injured, euphoric, covered in blood.

  
Hannibal was right. Will looked at his hand and the liquid glisten.

“It really does look black in the moonlight”.

"See? This is all I've ever wanted for you, Will".

  
Hannibal's voice sounded coarse, raw and pure, stripped down whole. The moisture of his eyes seemed slightly more prominent than usual; impossible to say what this was exactly owed to. Will couldn't tell if it was relief, happiness, something resembling... longing, or perhaps it was merely the moonlight enhancing their natural glisten. 

  
Glistening was also Hannibal’s face, covered in inky blood, contouring and enhancing his features and each expression, as if it existed only to flatter him.

  
Hannibal looked more like his true self this way. That may have been the reason Will was even more struck by the sight of him. 

"For both of us".

Hannibal looked so confident yet vulnerable while saying it. He looked so caring and selfless, yet so selfish and longing. He reminded Will of a dark diamond, glistening as he was, multifaceted, hypnotic, ambiguous. One couldn't ever get used to its depth and beauty.

And he had wanted this moment for the both of them. He was the wave that helped bring out Will's potential to the surface. And here they stood, next to the great red dragon bedded over his great red wings of blood growing out of him and all three of them were their truest selves tonight, no facades, no boundaries, equally covered in the soft blue light of the moon.

"It's beautiful",

Will replied between rough breaths and a smile. Hannibal nodded, lips parted, his eyelids exhausted, though his eyes wide awake, desperately running over Will's entire face, as if envying the blood that was covering and touching him.

And it was. 

It was the most beautiful moment of their lives and they were thankful, and nothing they would have ever imagined could have come close to the perfection and how it really felt like, to how it truly felt to have Will move his hands over Hannibal's shoulders and hold on to him, without anything between them, no lies, no pretense, no games.   
It felt like finally touching each other's true souls.

Will slowly moved into an embrace, the warmth between them defeating the cold air around them by far and Hannibal, for the first time, couldn't fully process what was happening.   
It caused a beautifully destructive storm of emotion inside him that hit him with full force. 

  
There was no desire to waste even just one thought on anything else that was not the here and now and the soft press of Will's touch and after a second of disbelief and surprise, he just sunk into the pure heat of the embrace, the pace of his breath slightly quickened. 

An intoxicating burn of adrenaline was washing over and through his entire body and the feeling was so incredibly unfamiliar at this point, rare to non-existent throughout most of his life, Hannibal had thought it was completely lost and never to be found. 

  
He had experienced weak seconds of something resembling adrenaline or excitement right before he thought he'd get killed or tortured to death by the opponents he faced throughout his life, but those could not ever be compared to what he was feeling now.   
The desperate feel of finally belonging.

This moment, it changed him.

He closed his eyes, lightly frowning in enjoyment, overwhelmed by the intensity and focused on every detail, every touch, every breath, so he could forever remember this feeling.  
Remember the scent, sound and heat of it, so perhaps he could dare imagine, 

oh, the taste of it.

Will finally felt how all remaining doubt left his mind, being replaced by the so wanted darkness and the clarity of the diamond before him.  
He felt Hannibal rushing through his mind and veins like the black blood that was covering and pouring out of them. 

It hurt so much. Both of them in pain, both of them cherishing it.

Even the scent of Hannibal was enhanced by their fresh blood, its coppery smell merging with his heady, sweet and bitter notes and embedded in a warm, familiar and addictive aroma that yet carried a piercing coldness that stabbed through Will and made his heart run even faster.

He ran is arm around Hannibal's back more tightly, the touch of him feeling utterly surreal yet completely natural, and finally wanted to take that last step, for them both to be devoured by the darkness at last.  
That's what he wanted for both of them, what he thought needed to happen, the only way he thought he could preserve what bound them together.   
He had to find a way to claim it, and he couldn't stop himself in his desperation. 

Hannibal knew.

He had felt it the moment he first felt Will's touch on his shoulder and it still couldn't distract him from being completely and utterly consumed by their embrace.  
It only made him feel each second of it even more.

  
He knew that the inevitable finity of this moment made it even more precious. 

Though he also knew very well that, would he been given the chance to choose, he'd given everything to make it infinite. 

He still felt nothing but Will when they fell.

The thought of death just wasn't enough to distract him; he had encountered it too often to let it take this away from him.   
He noticed the cold air rushing by, but held onto those falling seconds, holding onto Will more tightly, possessive of the new sensation, unwilling to let go.

For a moment all breath was drawn out from their lungs, indescribable pain, a hot burn competing with cold stabs of heavy water angrily dragging them down, punishing them for entering it, and then both of them sank into blackness and despite all the pain and the violent force of nature, they were still holding onto each other, non of them willing to part, 

not willing to let even death itself do them part. 

They were beyond death now.  
They were darkness itself. 

  
But what was sparked in Hannibal through a mere embrace reminded him of something so obvious that yet he had forgotten.   
That darkness on its very own is nothing but a void of solitude,

stripped off all its defining properties, that grant it its true beauty and that make it its intoxicating self. 

That he never would have noticed the dark depths behind Will's eyes, if their watery cool toned shade wasn't illuminated by the warm light of the candles of his dining room.

That it was Will's kind and pure empathy that opened a path to his darkness for Hannibal to so carefully extract. 

He opened his eyes, looking up. Water and pain were blurring his vision.

Moonlight was stabbing through the surface, dancing through the movement of the water, almost resembling silk ribbons and ropes to be grasped.

Will's grip lost its tension and his head sunk in loss of consciousness and Hannibal's temptation to join him and rest, to peacefully sink into death with Will, as beautiful as the thought was, was suddenly gone just when he remembered all of these things.

  
He understood Will, yet he couldn't let go of him, of _them_. 

It was selfish perhaps, but since when was that a factor he ever considered? Was not every act humans did one of selfishness? There were no exceptions. If something like guilt would rise he'd happily live with the guilt rather than die with regret at the height of his goal, before he could fully indulge in it.

The thought that he had fought for so long, so Will would, so _they_ would reach this point of becoming…

how pleased and proud he was when Will killed Tiers, bit right into Cordell's face with a calm expression and even when Will had sent Brown to kill him, he was still pleased,

Will’s unpredictable nature that was beyond Hannibal, how he had tried to whisper to through the chrysalis, yet loved the surprise of what hatches…

  
Will entering his cell after years of separation,

his cruel and manipulative rejections towards Hannibal that only made him want to possess him more, get into his mind more,

his beautifully cunning and knowingly manipulative way of saying "please", and the little brow raise afterwards when he wanted Hannibal to agree to his plan to catch the dragon.

Oh, his smirk... Dear devil, what a cunning boy he was...

  
Even that seemingly unbothered, slow sip of wine he took when Hannibal was shot only a few minutes ago, laying on the floor in pain.

It was cruel and it had looked beyond exquisite to Hannibal, sublime in fact.   
It reminded him of how he imagined God from time to time, God staring down at the world, feeling powerful,

just loving it.

Yet, at the same time he remembered how vulnerable Will, instead of drawing back when Hannibal stabbed into him in his kitchen, clung onto his shoulders, preserving their closeness through it all, not resisting him…  
when he realized that Will had in fact changed him.

  
He remembered the sight of Will sitting next to him in the gallery in Florence, his trusty scent and aura had filled the room before Hannibal could see him and just the mere realization that Will's steps, those precious steps that had followed him all this way, were directed towards him, the sound of the steps coming nearer...

Like a lamb nearing itself a lion, who wanted to befriend it, yet rip it apart.

  
He could not.   
He could not let that go.

He had cultivated and sculpted a refined artwork out of the rarest of marble, marble that he thought couldn't exist, and if it did, he'd never find, and he had brought out its true beauty and potential and now he couldn't bear seeing it drown, when there was yet so much more to admire, so much more to further polish. 

  
He realized that not only Will's potential was brought out, but his own.   
He thought he had reached what could've been reached, but Will had proved him wrong.   
He still felt their embrace as if they had never moved.  
He would not.   
He would not let him go. 

Pulling Will up, moving his feet with all he had, freeing an arm and pushing water aside with all remaining force, he kept following the bluish light of the moon, ignoring the endless pressure, pain and ache and he fled into thought until he'd reach the surface.

Those dark depths behind Will's eyes, he wanted to see it again, wanted to bring that darkness to the surface, like he was bringing themselves to the surface right now, wanted to see it compete with the light.

Their blood would have never looked so beautifully black, weren't it for the light of the moon. 

True darkness needed light to live.

And theirs was hit by cold air and moonlight anew.


	2. Intrigued Obsessively

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dive into the depths of Hannibal's mind and point of view right after the fall, and his past-, as well as present thoughts about Will and their conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love, love, LOVE to hear your thoughts about this one, because I've revised it like 80 times ^^" I hope you'll enjoy a bit of Hanni's pov!

Hannibal looked at his face, his curly, wet hair, the cut on his face that had made him wince when it was done to Will. 

Thin ribbons of blood were running down his cheekbone and he looked indeed like an innocent lamb who just barely escaped slaughter, as if he hadn't just slaughtered a dragon in gloriously violent manner himself.

The sight of him stirred Hannibal's thoughts. 

_How you keep fooling me with your wicked soul, fooling me with your devious, beguiling beauty…_

_You knew I wouldn't,_

_that I couldn't stop you_

_and you used my affection,_

_my hopeless love to get what you wanted,_

_once again._

_And I allowed it, and you knew I would._

_You knew I knew you knew…_

_and so the merging of our minds,_

_the spiral of our blur leads into_

_endless depths,_

_too deep to ever do it justice with words,_

_because you know me._

_See me._

_And I know you,_

_see you._

_Your blood is escaping your cheek as if attempting to paint your face in innocence that you've long lost, yet wear so well._

_Albeit, under our witness, which is the moon looking down upon us, it paints you in carbon likewise, the darkness suiting your pale skin_

_much too well for you to be truly innocent._

_It is tailored for you,_

_just as you are tailored for it._

  
  


_How your black lashes are carrying drops of the ocean as if you're regretful,_

_apologetic for what you did to me, to us,_

_how they're trying to fool me into thinking_

_they are heavy tears,_

_but it is my vision that is blurred,_

_not yours._

_You knew it only took an embrace to stun me. And whilst you misused it for what you intended to do, it cannot and will not ever deny_

_the truthfulness of what it was._

_I still feel your heartbeat against mine._

_I still feel how its pace was rushing._

_We are alive, yet my soul is still drowning_

_in your touch._

_~_

Hannibal had saved them, had only barely managed to lift them both up to the surface and under unyielding stabs of pain, in too many places on his body to list, faught through the malevolent waves to pull them to the next shore. 

That they somehow didn't hit any rocks or part of the cliff when falling down appeared to be nothing short of a miracle and Hannibal felt something faintly resembling gratitude.

He wasn't one to be ever genuinely thanking God, as he knew that nothing he did was done out of anything but selfish motives, even if they were seemingly just benevolent; 

however, he decided not to object and allow the feeling of appreciation and inhale the cool air around them that was welcoming them back to life.

  
  


In the face of only his own death in which he had found himself many times, he would've stayed calm in his determination.

But after a lifetime of imagining the flavor, the taste of belonging, the bliss that had been the minute during before their fall was too divine to stay calm, to let go, too sublime to fully grasp and much, oh, much too short to taste every nuance of it, like it deserved. 

There was no point in labeling it, he thought,

knowing full well it was sheer greed, longing and curiosity. 

He was curious what would happen, should they continue walking down the beautiful, dark path of life together, in unison. 

If Will would be willing to. 

Almost as if insisting to stay gone, it felt like an eternity until Hannibal could bring him back and push the water out of Will's lungs. 

It had been the most suffocating minute he'd ever experienced, the feeling of sheer, hopeless fear being almost new to him. 

It likely was. 

  
  


He knew why, yet was surprised regarding his confidence in his profession and his usual control of emotion. 

After all, he never even felt troubled, 

he only felt anticipation.

Though, for once he had no chance to allow the feeling; 

It had simply and forcefully overrun him without mercy. 

However he could feel sadness. 

He remembered Will's rejection after they'd escaped the Verger estate, years ago, and even with the knowledge that it was pure manipulation, he remembered how he felt, as if no time had passed.

At the time it was so crushing, so unbearable that he was almost tempted to wish they had never met. 

But he knew that he'd choose it all over again, knew that Will was worth all the pain, 

as that pain made life worth living in a way that mere comfort could never.

Now he sat there, watching Will's chest rise and sink, observing his face and the occasional movement of his lashes, caused by his eyes beneath, and couldn't help thinking years back. 

The evening after Will was released from the Baltimore Hospital for the criminally insane and after he had pointed a gun at him in his kitchen. 

He even remembered his exact strains of thought throughout it all, the way he thought about Will and each word they had uttered.

However, this wasn't unusual whatsoever, considering that this was the case with all of their conversations. 

This scene most likely came to his mind because of his urge to capture Will in a sketch, as he was laying there next to him.

~

~

~

A pencil sharpener couldn't ever compete with the deadly sharpness of a scalpel.

Hannibal glanced at the sharpened point of the pencil in his hand and back to the soft, warm-toned paper before him and then at his watch. His eyelids felt slightly heavy and his breathing had slowed down, mimicking the prolonged and tired rhythm during one's sleep. 

Usually he followed a very organized routine, meaning that it was rather unusual that he had started protracting his nightly sketching sessions to the extent of almost breaking through dawn and his sleep either getting reduced to just a few hours or occasionally even to none at all. 

Tonight he fell victim to the suspicion that he'd skip this night's sleep altogether. 

Even for someone like Hannibal, such lack of rest would have consequences, even more so because he had a day full of appointments scheduled for the next day. Albeit, to the mundane eye he'd still look so controlled and poised that his patients wouldn't notice anything at all.

Most of them at least. 

But it didn't matter. As serious as Hannibal took his profession, his own needs and desires were always the first priority and it was plain unrealistic and pointless to argue to stop now while he knew, even if against all reason, that he wouldn't do so either way. 

It made him feel both at peace and restless; inspiration and a feeling of sheer need of different kinds were floating through him relentlessly and he welcomed it, enjoyed it, the images of _him_ in different positions, from different angles, perspectives, the different values and the harsh and soft hues of light covering shape and face as if full of admiration, unable to ever be unflattering. 

He looked at the various different sketches before him and all of them, in their own way, stole little smiles from him. 

Not because of the rather justified mental praise he'd usually grant himself regarding his own tremendous skill, attention to detail and overall precision, but because of who he had drawn and how much more real _his_ aura felt, despite the unfortunate absence, captured on paper. 

That seemed like the suitable alternative to unreasonably visiting him at 4 am for no specific reason, other than the sheer lust to do so, or rather mundanely calling in the middle of the night under false pretense - perhaps he wouldn't even reveal himself or say anything - so he could just listen to the sound of _his_ voice for a moment. 

Let alone the fact that only a few hours prior he had been threatened at gunpoint and perhaps shouldn't force the issue. Oddly enough this was not one of the reasons holding Hannibal back, 

Hannibal being Hannibal.

Anyhow, these weren't things he'd ever really do and he'd prefer to remove all pretense that was already between them rather than adding even more, but they still were crawling through his mind as the irrational little temptations they were.

He'd rather be honest, just appear in person, but as confident as he was, he couldn't dare to be incautious about this matter and possibly ruin what they had built so far. 

In Hannibal's mind, the fact that he had framed his beloved and therefore challenged _his_ perception of him so much, _he_ started fantasizing about killing him, like other people fantasize about sexual scenarios, and going as far as attempting it, was nothing to be seen in a solely negative light. 

Was that not an undeniable proof of the power he had over _him_? 

How Hannibal occupied his mind just like _he_ occupied his? 

Has it not been an act of passion? Yes it was. Death, passion and love were close relatives, weren't they?

 _He_ did spare him when he could've killed him. 

And _he_ chose not to. 

Hannibal smiled at the memory, like others would reminisce in thoughts of past summer vacations. 

Really, the temptation was painful... to just give in to his urges, rush the matter, drive there like a starving animal lusting for meat, pin this beautiful soul, this _delicacy,_ against the nearest wall in his unnerving desire to _possess_ it, taste it, indulge in it, _consume_ it and then reward it...

reward it with as much pleasure he was physically and mentally able to give and far beyond that...

These desires didn't find their root in mere boredom, general attraction towards someone or just missing someone, even though a combination of these was undeniably a part of it. This wasn't a mere sexual frustration or an obsession of the kind, regular people would sometimes have with one another.

He had been not just alone in this world but felt like he was the only exemplar of a specific species.

And while knowing that he was, this specific lack had not formed into an ongoing pain, but rather was an inevitable state he had been in for so long, he didn't actively fight it nor even recognized it as such very often, since he indulged in distractions of all kinds and maintained enough "friendships", appearances and admirers to protect the image of himself he carried in his own mind. 

And that image didn't portray a lonesome outcast but a desired and popular man who you'd _have_ _to_ respect, who you'd be very thankful to spend time with and who, due to his obvious superiority and intellect was very selective about who he granted the enjoyment,

the great gift of his company,

his solitude always being a deliberate choice and therefore immune to any judgement from others and, most importantly, from himself. 

He wanted to be alone, since nobody was of real interest. And how much influence one has over how interesting others are perceived only partially lies in our conscious mind, doesn't it? 

Dinner parties for the elite, gatherings of high social standing, his artful murder exhibitions and him feeding his trophies to the very people who hunted him, who'd clap for him in admiration of his skill, they all fed into that image. 

They were amusing and entertaining, but after all nothing more than tools to stroke his ego or fight his boredom. 

They were proof that he _could_ have them all and that the lack he felt on occasion was, while inevitable, nothing but his choice.

And with all that considered he led a happy life, enjoying himself very much, appreciating life, as the precious gift it was.

Yet one could have also just covered up a bleeding injury with a piece of paper and pretended it didn't exist. 

  
  


And Hannibal, self-reflecting as he was,

was aware of all of that, his own way of thinking and the root of his actions,

aware of his partial denial of the fact that even if it was a choice, that didn't mean the lack he still felt at times, 

was not. 

There had been nobody he couldn't have cracked open, but nobody had made him genuinely want to. 

But he wanted to _want to._

There simply was no soul on earth who had the potential to fully understand him, look behind his veil and perhaps cherish what was there, and because of that impossibility he learned to live with the fact that he'd stay alone on the inside, as he refused to accept anyone lesser and settle with someone he knew wouldn't be enough, 

who wouldn't be an equal. 

He deserved more than that. 

Until _he_ appeared and turned that lack and solitude into that ongoing pain and that painfully obvious regret of having missed out on it all his life,

letting drops of blood fall on the starving lion's tongue for the very first time, without actually feeding it,

letting it taste but not _consume,_

making him wonder how he had survived until now, wondering why only now he was allowed to admit,

to _live_ his very own nature. 

That was the extent of it, the root of those urges. It felt so above all conventional labels, so much more powerful, reckless, violent almost, the extent of the feeling resembling a destructive storm.

But despite its destructive nature, he wouldn't ever call it _evil_ ,

on the contrary. 

It was of the utmost beauty and elegance, 

its dangerous radiance seductive to no end. 

It would test his patience, his strength and self-control, perhaps even his caution 

and he'd let it.

He urged for something to challenge him, to feel the violence of emotion ruthlessly burn him from the inside out and for it to dare the poised ice inside himself not to melt under its heat. 

He looked forward to that almost choreographed fight inside himself and most importantly he decided to allow it.

Because even a wild and forceful storm of emotion first needed Hannibal's permission to be allowed full entry into his mind and body, to be genuinely felt, just like every moment of empathy was a conscious decision. 

One could say they communicated their presence before the doors of Hannibal's mind palace, waiting before the throne room for the highness to decide their fate. 

He may dismiss them without any consideration or burn them at the stake, or he may allow them entry into the room, take a look at them and if they proved entertaining or interesting enough, they may live for now and perhaps deserve a temporary chance to convince him of their worth and qualities. 

And the urge to be truly seen by _him_ promised to be a feeling beyond usual entertainment, to have _him_ see the truth of who he truly was, a form of exposure that formed an image of a forbidden fruit in his mind that promised euphoria.

It was so tempting, so pure, yet so fatal.

He would be seen bare to the soul, stripped off of all facades, shedding the layers of lies and pretense, laying down his person suit and the veil covering his true face. 

And _his_ eyes would cover him like the fruit's sinful sweetness would cover his tongue and oh, he'd accept wandering through all levels of Dante's hell for that to happen. 

He'd be consumed by another's eyes and soul and he himself would finally be granted to _consume_ as well. 

And because the promise of that delight had always laid in the air whenever _he_ was there, he craved _his_ presence.

_Will's_ presence.

Oh, the thought of his mere name - even in his mind he'd use it as sparingly as he could, as if it was a special, sweet treat he'd grace his thoughts with as a specialty, each mention of it being savored - and him standing before Hannibal again, perhaps conscious of the fact that he was capturing him on paper,

perhaps aware of the fact that Hannibal did not only do so to pass the time until they would meet again, be in each other's presence again but the _crave_ that this dedication meant, him exploring each of Will's expressions, every little micromovement of his muscles, his face and body, every little nuance of his aura and the fascinating and multifaceted soul that was 

_Will._

_Will._

_Will._

  
  


The thought of holding that fascinating boy in a golden cage to observe him, actually having, _possessing_ _him_ had crossed Hannibal's mind more than once and visiting him in the Baltimore hospital for the criminally insane wasn't the same, even though observing him there, his brilliant and very much deceptive acting and pleading for help, his fear, disgust and savage rage and yet the burning tension that was still between them, they all had been delights in their own right. 

One of his sketches portrayed the scene. The image of Will in a golden cage was of such beauty and sublimity, but he knew that while this thought was provoked by selfish and unreasonable desire, it was actually not going to satisfy him on its own, unless he'd only use the cage to see it destroyed. 

And wasn't that what had actually happened?

Will was a wild and free being, an unpredictable creature that was thriving and the most stunning when without a leash, or rather after ripping the leash apart.

The only reason why Hannibal would cage him or put a leash on him would be seeing all his beautiful struggle and suffering that would then turn into something else, most importantly, Will breaking free from both of them, destroying them, taking revenge, shedding layers of weakness to reveal his true strength slumbering beneath it all. 

In many ways these restrictions, provocations and horrors had been a necessity to spark that power and potential in Will. And was that not the greatest gift you could give your beloved?

He would never know he could break cages if he wasn't put in one.

Hannibal looked down at the scars running down his wrist, remembering the suffocating noose around his neck.

He still felt it. He was hurt, caught off guard like never before, sad in a way for how their friendship had changed, but yet couldn't help smiling.

He knew he still had a long way to go to make Will see himself as he really was, to make him see how Hannibal truly was and to finally give in. But this was a step closer towards the revelation of his true potential and after all, true love meant showing your beloved their potential. 

Will had just been declared innocent after Hannibal had framed him for the murders and tomorrow would be the 7:30 pm appointment, the time at which Will used to have his regular therapy sessions. Hannibal had kept that time slot free, out of principle. 

After who had occupied this sweet, weekly hour, no other patient was worthy to take his place.

And to assume that all that Hannibal felt was pure love wasn't the complete truth either. 

Or perhaps it was, considering how quickly pure love can bleed and turn to become bitter hatred. 

One can only truly hate if one truly loves and Hannibal had felt stabs of hatred towards Will when he was hanging at the cross with his throat caught by a rope and his wrists cut open. 

He had hated Will for the rejection, for not loving him the way Hannibal loved him. Of course he understood why, yet hated him for fooling him into thinking he wanted, needed his friendship and help to then use that reassurement against him. 

And yet he admired him, loved him _exactly_ because of that, exactly because of the fact that someone had managed to fool him and hit him where it hurt most, _attacking_ his ego and his mind. 

He had finally met him, 

an _equal_. 

He partially expected Will to come to his appointment, yet wouldn't have been surprised if he didn't come. Will had pointed a gun at him one night prior in his own home. A startling yet exciting experience which Hannibal also captured on paper. Moist and wrathful eyes, passionate, beautiful in their self righteousness. Hannibal gave the drawing a proud sigh.

  
  
  


Again, Will had been attacking his ego, frightening him unexpectedly like nobody coud ever do before and it felt exhilarating. What could've been a boring night, turned out to become adrenaline running through his body with burning intensity, a reminder of how precious life was.

It made him feel alive. 

Will made him feel alive.

  
  
  


And the next evening finally came. All the hours passing especially slowly, the other patients feeling, or rather being, endlessly boring and the anticipation and hope that Will would come was what made the lack of sleep and the wait bearable. 

And right before he intended to take the first sip of wine, he heard someone knock on his office door and the hopefulness stripped itself down to nothing but pure joy.

"Hello Will."

_I see how you've changed, I'm noticing your transition, do you as well? Of course you do._

_Not only mentally but physically, you have evolved, your outside reflecting the inside._

_You are more put together, a mischievous glisten dancing over your blue eyes, their heated craze replaced by striking clarity, a healthy glow stroking your cheekbone, catching the light as if trying to wink at me seductively, tempting me to see my hand caress it._

_With the exception of a single luscious one intently falling over your forehead, you've combed back your ebony curls, which you have never done before. They lie in neat order as if finally recovering from your confusions and wild wrath._

_While I'm fully aware of the attack slumbering beneath your skin, you look calm and collected, much more at ease._

_Look how my, your, our_

_wickedness is delighting you,_

_suiting you._

_Beautiful._

  
  


"May I come in?"

  
  


_You may. You must. You've already invaded, imprinted my mind and soul. I've been sketching every inch of you that I had the fortune to lay eyes upon and I did so through a myriad of restless, yet blissful nights while the image of you, the thought of you floated through all of me incessantly._

_I would crave the sight of you full of wrath towards me, tempted to take my life with a righteous smile, rather than endure the emptiness that is the consequence of your absence._

_But I shan't tell you any of this._

_You are already claiming more power over me than I should have ever allowed, yet I did and do so with irrational delight._

_Are you here once more because my absence tortures you likewise?_

_Is it good to see me?_

  
  


"Do you intend to point a gun at me?" 

  
  


_Your expression is full of false innocence when I ask and you're fully aware of that._

_You know what you're doing,_

_the cunning boy that you are._

  
  


"Not tonight".

  
  


_Your voice was almost a whisper._

_The sides of your lip curl up softly, mocking me._

_Your eyes spark with confidence and mercy as if you are graciously sparing me, as if both your captivity and current freedom weren't my very gifts towards you._

_You are smirking right at me while saying it and taking unhurried steps towards me._

_I left a little less space than usual for you to walk by me into the office and I'm savoring the sight of you, the scent of you, the heat of you..._

_Today, surprisingly, you have consciously decided not to use that atrocious aftershave but something very subtle that enhances your natural, heady scent and its warm, yet rainy tones._

_There's a melancholic freshness, yet a debauched and lascivious character to it._

_You are testing me._

_I cannot._

_I have yet to fully occupy, obtain your mind, shape you into yourself first._

_There is nothing of higher importance._

_If I would now allow myself such unspeakable loss of control, you'd see me frown, see my eyes roll back before they shut and feel me push you into the door frame rather harshly to then obscenely inhale the skin of your throat with a ferocious, starving sound and parted lips to allow my tongue its anticipated escape onto and then into much sweeter homes._

_I wonder if your smirk would widen or If it'd be wiped off your face._

_I imagine I know the answer._

  
  
  


"Are you expecting someone?"

"Only you." _Nobody else is worth expecting._

  
  


"You kept my standing appointment open?"

_Are you genuinely asking?_

_Perhaps you aren't aware of the extent to which you occupy my mind after all. Or are you merely stating the obvious, disguised as a question?_

_I'll deny you the submission, the audible 'yes' that has been silently floating through the room since you left._

"And you're right on time."

"I need to deal with you... and my feelings about you. I thought it would be best if I do that directly".

_Your feelings about me…_

_I agree, Will. You should. Please do._

"First you'll have to grieve for what is lost and what has changed."

"I've changed. You changed me."

_Oh, indeed._

_I had an influence on you nobody ever had before nor will ever have again. I changed you only by changing your perception of yourself, seeing your true self more clearly. I haven't made you into who you are. I am merely guiding you to see it for yourself._

"The friendship we had is over. The Chesapeake Ripper is over."

Hannibal in present time smirked at his own rather desperate attempt for balance at that long gone moment, because he knew that at the time he was so surprised by the deadly display of Will's superiority and his cunning deception. 

He remembered his own slight frown, his serious expression he wore all over his face when saying those words, knowing full well that he'd never truly let their friendship go and that this could literally pass as a translation of a rather childish statement of the kind:

"If you don't like me back, I won't like you anymore either and I won't play with you anymore", even though Will, while he was just as lonely, had never asked to play this game in the first place and even though Hannibal was desperate, as there was nobody else on earth he wanted to or could have played with. 

Maybe Will hadn't asked for the game, but he needed it to find himself and he had played along.

Hannibal had known that at the time but perhaps even he wasn't entirely immune to forceful emotion, to pride, defeat, desire.

On second thought, he was very much immune, yet he _chose_ not to be against all reason. 

Now he could only smile at his words, thinking back.

"It had to be Miriam didn't it? She was compelled to take his life so she could take her own back." Will had said.

"How would you take your life back?"

_I have shown you what those around you, those who you so trusted, are capable of, what you are capable of and that you do not need to, cannot rely on anyone but me._

_I freed you in more ways than one and I'm clearing your mirrors of the fog that is blurring your vision of yourself._

_You only need me._

_I want to be the one you come to, to take your life back._

  
  


"I'd like to resume my therapy."

_Oh, my dear, I'd like to resume us._

_I'm delighted you are letting me, allowing me, even though a lack of permission would not have made me let you drown in the lies you are telling the self you want to be._

_To see you here in front of me again, dear Will, an even truer self of you, was worth our separation._

  
  


"Where shall we begin?"

~

~

~

And now Hannibal had given Will back his life once again. The sounds of the ocean were much calmer now, as if its only task had been testing their will to survive, or rather Hannibal's, and now it could wind down and just watch them lay at its shore.

Water was softly caressing rocks and sand while rays of dawn were competing with the darkness of the night. The black blood on their faces started revealing its hues of a deep, saturated red and Will opened his eyes. 

Hannibal leaned slightly over him, so he could have a better look at them and catch his glance.

_The moment your eyes open, Will,_

_the ocean cannot help but shamefully_

_desaturate._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for being such a snail with updating this..  
> Don't worry though, as not all the fiction will have this type of language and long ass sentences (I hope). 
> 
> But I really wanted to go this route as this chapter is mainly Hanni's point of view and I imagine his thoughts to be slightly dramatic in their poetry ^^ Let me know your thoughts💙

**Author's Note:**

> I know that post fall has already been done to perfection, but I really wanted to at least attempt it. 
> 
> But there will be some nice oneshots happening  
> because I'm impatient for certain things;)


End file.
